Janus
by Strange Soulmates
Summary: Lord Voldemort is up to something. His attacks lately have been nothing more than a distraction, an attempt to divert attention from his true target. A target Tom Slytherin is determined to discover. Upon meeting Harry Potter, Tom knows he has found his answer. Tom soon finds himself obsessed when Harry proves unpredictable, determined to solve the mystery Harry has become.


**I know. Another WIP. But I just couldn't help myself. This was originally going to be my Tomarry big bang, but I wanted to post something complete and it quickly grew out of control.**

* * *

Voldemort was up to something.

Tom had suspected it for weeks, but now he was certain. There was no other explanation for the man's behavior. Voldemort was irrational, erratic, driven by his desires with no impulse control to speak of. If he wanted to do something, he did it. Murder, mayhem - it didn't matter. He never had a impulse he failed to indulge.

On the surface, it seemed as if nothing had changed. Attacks still occurred almost nightly, terror being spread through the wizarding world at the man's antics.

Dark Lord Voldemort Strikes Again the daily prophet proclaimed, a picture of the Dark Mark in all it's ominous glory displayed below.

All to be expected, given the man involved. Not making headlines would have been more suspicious. But it was the nature of the attacks that had Tom convinced all was not as it appeared.

For the past three weeks, all of Voldemort's attacks had been incredibly public. There had been an attack on Diagon Alley, one on Hogsmede. A handful of very public battles between the Death Eaters and the Aurors outside the "attacks". All showy, all designed to attract attention.

All incredibly pointless.

There was a method to the man's madness, a purpose behind every ploy. These attacks? These attacks had clearly been meant as distractions. For the Aurors, the Order, yes. But for Tom as well.

This merited further investigation. Anything Voldemort thought was worth hiding was something worth knowing, and knowing quickly.

Tom left the daily prophet open on his desk and crossed his office. A casual wave of his wand had a blaze roaring to life in the fireplace. Tom grabbed a pinch of Floo powder form the contain he kept on the mantel, tossing it into the fire. When the flames had turned a distinct emerald green, he lowed himself to his knees.

"Number twelve, Grimwald Place," he said clearly before placing his head into the flames.

Tom endured the feeling of his head spinning thorugh the flames with ease of practice. When the spinning ceased, he found himself staring at the familiar sight of the visitor's parlor of Grimwald Place. He found himself frowning at the decor. Tom had no issues with the darker nature of the objects scattered around the room. Far from it. Still, there was something to be said for taste. He would never have allowed his own manor to be decorated thus.

There was a pop, and Regulus' hous elf appeared.

"Fetch Regulus for me," Tom ordered, not bothing to hide his distain for the disgusting creature.

"Yes sir, Mister Slytherin, sir," the creature said, head bobbing awkwardly before it disappeared once again with a pop.

A moment was all it took before Tom heard hurried footsteps making their way down the hall. A moment later Regulus Black appeared, and Tom studied his appearance critically. His long dark hair was carefully styled, swept back to reveal dark eyes in a somewhat gaunt face with sharp cheekbones. His robes were impeccable, his posture perfect. To anyone else, he would have seemed the perfect pureblood aristocrat, unruffled by anything.

Tom was not anyone else.

Regulus' posture was too perfect. His steps were stiff, devoid of any grace. His entire body held carefully to avoid injuries, Tom was certain. His face looked even more haunted than usual. He'd been injured, and badly. Either he had yet to be healed, or magical remedies were not enough to stop the pain entirely.

"Mister Slytherin," Regulus said formally.

Tom didn't waste time with pleasantries.

"Come, Regulus," he ordered. "Now. We have much to discuss."

Tom pulled back, not waiting for Regulus' response. He knew without a doubt that he would be obeyed. Regulus knew better than to keep him waiting. Tom Riddle was not a man to be crossed.

He returned to his desk and stared down at the paper in front of him, tapping his fingers against his desk as he turned over the facts as he knew them. What was Voldemort trying so desperately to hide? And why was he so determined to keep it from Tom? Exactly what was it that had happened three weeks ago that had caused all of this?

Tom felt the brush of the wards against his magic as they allowed a visitor entry, and a fraction of a second later Regulus appeared in front of him with a small popping sound.

Regulus gave a polite bow in greeting, but Tom waved him off. Now was not the time for social niceties. Now was the time for answers. He only had so many hours to work the problem before Voldemort emerged once more.

"Tell me," Tom ordered as Regulus eased himself carefully into the seat on the other side of the desk.

"He's been intent on drawing out the Order," Regulus shared. "He keeps his own council, but that's been his only aim of late."

Tom frowned, eyes narrowed as he considered the issue. The Order opposed Voldemort and everything he was trying to accomplish through his campaign of terror. Still, to fight them head-on wasn't in character. Not without a clear advantage.

"Thoughts?" Tom asked.

Regulus shook his head.

"Their defiance has always irritated him and he's no doubt been planning to eliminate them since they first opposed him, but the goal before now has always been to destroy them at the source. Not like this"

"So what changed?" Tom muttered, more to himself than to Regulus.

There was something. Something there, just beyond his grasp. Just a little more and he would have it, he was certain.

"Tell me about the target," Tom ordered Regulus.

"There wasn't one," Regulus said.

That had Tom's attention.

"You said it was an attack against the Order," Tom said, eyes narrowed. "When he attacks them, there's always a target."

Their headquarters, a member's ancestral home, the loved ones of those who dared to defy him. There was always a purpose, an aim. A goal. Voldemort was violent, but he channeled his impulses productively for the most part.

"No target," Regulus said again. "He just ordered us to do as much damage as possible, and to engage the Order when they arrived."

He wanted to lure them out. All of them. Lure them away from something.

Was it something the Order was protecting? Something they possessed? Or did he just need to conceal his true goal from them as much as he needed to keep it from Tom?

"He fought?" Tom asked.

"The first time, yes," Regulus said simply.

Tom froze.

"A time turner?" he asked. "Voldemort got his hands on a time turner?"

"He has someone in the department of mysteries," Regulus confirmed. "I don't know who, but that's how he got it."

Tom let his finger fall even harder against the wood, the only sign of his irritation he allowed himself to show.

A distraction. All of it had just been a large spectacle, to keep attention off whatever Voldemort's true goal was.

"How long?" Tom snapped.

Regulus just blinked at him.

"How long has he had the time turner?" Tom said shortly.

"Last night was the first I saw of it," Regulus answered.

If he'd been staging distractions on his first loop before using the second to pursue whatever it was that he was after, then the Death Eaters would have seen it before. At least those of the inner circle, like Regulus.

"He wasn't there at Diagon or Hogsmeade," Tom said.

It wasn't a question. It didn't need to be a question. Tom knew the answer already. Regulus' nod served only as confirmation.

The man was after something. But what?

Once he was certain he had everything he could use from the man, using Legilimency to ensure nothing had been missed, Tom dismissed Black. After thanking him for his service by healing the wounds he'd incurred during the battle. Loyalty was always rewarded. Especially when there was such a risk of it being divided.

With Regulus gone, Tom turned his attention to the wall of his private office, raising his wand, channeling his magic through it as he moved it through a series of complicated patterns known only to himself. Lips curled in distaste, he spoke the password known only to himself.

"Sesame, open" he said, fighting to keep himself from cringing as he did so.

A muggle bastardization of a powerful revealing spell, one that was still used by curse-breakers and tomb-raiders to the day. Still, he knew that Voldemort would never permit the muggle's profaned version of magic to pass his lips. There was no fear that the monster would discover what Tom kept secret from him.

Ritual performed, Tom stepped through the wall and into the space beyond.

It was a large, spacious room. One side contained a potions lab, stocked with ingredients from the mundane to the arcane and obscure. If the ministry of magic were to discover these potions stores, it would be enough to sentence Tom to Azkaban for two hundred years. The other side of the room contained a worktable, covered in open tomes, scraps of parchment covered in notes, and several rare, enchanted artifacts scattered carelessly across the surface. Bookshelves crammed full of works took up all but one section of wall around the worktable.

It was to this last section that Tom strode, coming to a stop in front of the wall to stare up at the intricate web he had created. Pieces of parchment, maps, pages from books, and articles from the prophet papered the wall. Tom had highlighted certain words and phrases with his magic, different threads of magic connecting different documents to each other.

Three weeks. This strange behavior had been going on three weeks. So, what had changed three weeks ago? What was it that had caused Voldemort's priorities to shift so suddenly?

Tom stared at the mess in front of him, tracing the patterns back. There. The attack on the Potters. That had been just over three weeks ago. At the time, Tom had thought nothing of it. He had merely made note of it, as he did of all the Dark Lord's activities. Looking on it now, with fresh eyes, Tom could see what he hadn't been able to then.

The raid on the Potter's manor had been the last one before Voldemort's behavior had begun to change.

He had a timeline now. Whatever had happened, it had happened between that attack and the next. A two day window to comb over, looking for whatever it was that had been the catalyst of this new behavior.

"You're hiding something," Tom spoke aloud, walking forward until he stood in front of the articles, "And I will discover what it is, Dark Lord."

He let his finger rest atop the picture of the Potters from the profit article.

"And I know just where to start."

* * *

Tom was the head of the Dark Wizard Deterrent Squad, created specifically to tackle the problem of Voldemort. At first, he thought he would simply keep the rest of the department ineffectually chasing their tails, giving Voldemort room to accomplish their goals. But it became very clear that the Dark Lord had his own agenda, one that was counterproductive to Tom's own ambitions. The Committee had become an unexpected boon of a resource. One Tom could use to keep track of Voldemort while he was...indisposed.

At the morning meeting, after he was finished eviscerating his staff for their inability to discover anything of use, Tom informed his staff that he was going to be paying the Potters a visit and would be out of the office for the rest of the day. No one so much as batted an eye.

"Would you like company, Mr. Slytherin, sir?" His secretary, Percy Weasley asked.

Tom did his best to hide his grimace at the thought. Weasley was from a pureblood family, for all that they had the reputation for being muggle lovers. Still, Weasley was driven and determined, eager to prove himself in any way possible. The smallest bit of praise, of assistance, would be enough to ensure his loyalty for the rest of time.

Tom had the connections to ensure that loyalty. He'd chosen the boy as his secretary for a number of reasons. First, it would ensure that Weasley would always remember Tom as the man who had opened the doors for him. It gave Tom access to his family, who Tom was certain were members of the Order. A spy among their ranks was nothing but useful. The boy was eager to prove himself useful, and would do anything Tom asked. The reality of Weasley's connections would do a great deal to help improve Tom's reputation on the muggleborn front. Weasley's hire had been a political move through and through, and one that had worked better than Tom could have imagined.

But the thought of spending an entire afternoon with the boy was appalling.

"I appreciate the offer, Mr. Weasley," Tom said with a smile he knew looked sincere. "But I need someone to manage the office while I'm out."

Weasley puffed up exactly the way Tom had known he would. Tom had to fight to keep himself from rolling his eyes. The boy was far to easy to manipulate. There was no sport in it at all.

"I'll keep things organized while your out, Mr. Slytherin."

"Thank you, Weasley. Would you inform the Potters I'm on my way?"

"Of course, sir."

With that, Tom turned on his heel, the familiar feeling of being squeezed far too tight through a space far too small engulfing him for a moment. The sensation was over as soon as it had begun, and Tom found himself standing outside the gates of Potter manor. There was a lion in the center of the gate, and it was eyeing him suspiciously.

"Thomas Slytherin," Tom said to the gate. "Head of the Dark Wizard Deterrent Squad. I'm hear to speak with the Potters about the terrible attack three weeks ago."

"Identification?" the lion growled at him.

Tom reached into his pocket and pulled out the pocket watch that all members of the ministry were given. He showed the face to the lion, bearing the crest of the ministry of magic. The lion eyed it suspiciously for a moment before it nodded.

"Mr. James Potter and Mrs. Lily Potter are not at home, but their son, Mr. Harry Potter is present. Would you prefer to call again when the entire family is available?"

Not at all. The situation was actually perfect. Tom would have the chance to explore the property freely, with only one person to ensnare. The Potter's son was only twenty years old, Tom knew from his research on the family. A Gryffindor. It would be a simple enough matter to manipulate him. Tom would be able to explore the house and the grounds to discover if it was perhaps something on the property that had caught the monster's attention. The boy, too, was bound to be far less circumspect than his parents. While they were members of the Order, their son was not. He would not feel the same need to keep secrets as his parents.

He would talk to Mr. and Mrs. Potter, of course. But not now. Not here.

"I will call on Mr. and Mrs. Potter later," Tom informed the lion. "They are both at the ministry, I presume?"

The lion nodded in acknowledgement.

"Very well. The young Mr. Potter is expecting you," the lion said before stilling, and the gate swung open.

Tom took the long walk up the drive at a fairly brisk pace. It wouldn't do to keep Potter waiting. Still, he took the time to observe the estate. From what Regulus had told him, the battle had raged on the lawn for the most part, while a small group had managed to penetrate the manor itself. Looking at the grounds, he could see the evidence. The large trees bore scars from spells. The ground was scorched in places, and he could see gaps in the design where he was certain trees had once stood. Still, there was nowhere near as much damage as their should have been. Regulus had described the raid to him, and had made it clear that the Potter's grounds had been laid waste to during the raids.

Tom approached the front of the manor and found beautiful, perfectly tended gardens around the front door, as well as a clear facade. Not just the grounds then, but the house as well. Someone was slowly undoing the damage that had been done.

Tom doubted it was James Potter, from what he'd heard about the man. For all that the man was a pureblood, he had little use for the responsibilities that came along with the family name. Before Voldemort had begun attacking the Order, the family hadn't lived in the manor but in Godric's hollow.

Lily Potter was a stronger possibility. She was skilled in the kind of work that would have been required to undo the damage that had been done. But Tom wasn't certain when she would have had the time. The Committee on Experimental Charms was quite a commitment. Lily Potter apparently split her time between Spell Creation and investigation. From what Tom had heard, she was quite skilled at both.

Which left the youngest Potter. Considering the way his father had no doubt raised him, Tom found himself surprised. He had expected the same disregard for familial responsibility that James Potter had shown. Yet if he was responsible for the upkeep of the grounds and the garden, then Tom would need to adjust his expectations. Perhaps the youngest Potter was more aware of tradition than his father.

Tom found himself curious about the youngest Potter. The boy was not living up to his expectations. Perhaps this conversation would be more interesting than he had anticipated.

Tom mounted the stairs and rapped three times on the door. It was only a moment before the door opened and he found himself staring down at a house elf. That in and of itself was not unexpected, but he found his eyes widening as he took in the scene before him more fully.

The elf was dressed. Not in a clean towel or a pillowcase or some other article bearing the family crest. No, this elf was clothed.

A free elf. Tom had never actually seen one of the things before. Not just a free elf, but a free elf working in a manor. Tom didn't know what to make of the situation.

"Mister Slytherin sir bes coming in now," the elf, dressed in a pair of mismatched socks. "Dobby bes taking him to master Harry Potter."

Tom hadn't felt this wrong footed since the first time he had set foot in the wizarding world, and even then it hadn't taken him long to recover and adapt. A free elf, though...

Tom set aside the contemplation for a later time. As unusual as it was, Voldemort wouldn't have cared one whit about a house elf, free or otherwise. Tom needed to discover exactly what it was that had happened here. Needed to discover if it was something here that had caught Voldemort's eye.

The interior damage was much more obvious than the exterior. Not a surprise, given the complicated layer of spells and wards that family manors accumulated over the generations that the family lived within it's walls. Repairing a manor was always delicate, complicated work. You needed to understand every layer of magic that coated the house. Most hired experts to do the work.

But an expert would have been finished by now. Which meant that it was someone in the household who was working to repair the damage. Most wizards and witches lacked the power and the sensitivity required to make such delicate, intricate repairs.

James Potter had the power, but not the sensitivity. His wife had both, and knew how to use them. It was a necessary part of her work. But again, Tom wasn't certain when she would have had time to undertake the project. Even if she had, knowing her skill and expertise, Tom would have imagined that the work would have been completed by now. Which once again left young Harry Potter. Perhaps this meeting would be more fruitful than he had expected.

The elf showed him to what was clearly a visitor's parlor to Tom's practiced eye. Designed to impress while keeping those who dropped by from the more private areas of the house. There was a large fireplace, bracketed by bookshelves on either side. In the center of the room was what Tom was almost certain was a magic carpet, for all that they had been outlawed in Britain several decades earlier. There were sofas and chairs arranged on the carpet, and a small coffee table that was already set out with scone and tea.

The man who had been sitting in one of the chairs rose as Tom entered.

"Mr. Slytherin," the young man said with a polite smile, crossing the room and offering his hand. "I'm Harry Potter."

Tom would have known who he was even without the introduction. He had the same build as his father, tall and lean, with the same untamable mass of dark hair. He too wore round glasses, as his father did, but Harry's frames were thin and gold, unlike the more obvious ones preferred by James. His eyes, however were no doubt from his mother.

Still, for all that the features were familiar, there was something about the way that they came together that was particularly pleasing. James Potter was objectively handsome, just as Lily Potter was beautiful, but they'd never appealed to him on anything more than an aesthetic level. That was not at all the case with their son.

Tom ignored his attraction with ease. It wouldn't do to be distracted in this moment, and Tom knew that at soon as the boy revealed how stupid and mundane he was, it would vanish. Even if the lust remained, he would have no use for the boy outside the bedroom and would grow bored of him quickly. Still, there was the possibility of enjoying the man for at least a few nights. It was best to keep all options open.

"Mr. Potter," Tom said, giving the man his most charming grin before Tom took his offered hand.

He was briefly tempted to turn the man's hand over and press a kiss to the back of it, instead of shaking it as Potter had clearly intended. Still, the temptation was short lived. It was too bold a move to make so soon especially when Tom was unsure how long his own interest would last.

He settled instead for a firm handshake, though he allowed his hand to linger a moment or two longer than necessary, dragging his fingers along potters palm when he finally relinquished his grip.

Potter took his hand back, a brief touch of his thumb against his palm the only sign he gave that he had noticed. As subtle as it was, it was enough. Tom didn't miss anything. Had Potter turned his back, he would have smirked.

Instead, Tom took a seat when Potter gestured him towards the chair.

"Would you like anything?" Potter asked him, a polite smile still fixed firmly on his face. "Tea? Something to eat?"

Tom waved off the requests and settled further back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other

"Thank you for your hospitality, but I shall have to decline. I've only just come from a breakfast meeting."

"Of course," Potter said, settling into his chair once more before turning his full attention to Tom. "Now, Mr. Slytherin, what can I do for you? Unfortunately, both my parents are engaged in the ministry, but they will be home after six if you were hoping to speak with them."

It was subtle, but Potter had angled his head so that the reflection of the firelight off his glasses such that his eyes were partially obscured. Not enough to truly block Tom's view of lovely green eyes, but just enough to ensure that he could not probe Potter's mind.

Tom sat up straighter, shifting the angle just enough that he could use Legilimency if he so desired. He hadn't intended to use the mind arts, but now that they had been denied the insight, he could help but wonder what it was that Potter was trying to hide. Tom seriously doubted that it was anything but accidental, but he was a suspicious person by nature. As soon as Tom had finished his adjustments, Potter tilted his head slightly, causing the reflected fire to obscure his eyes once more.

Mr. Potter, it seemed was full of surprises.

"No, Mr. Potter," Tom said. "You are exactly who I wished to speak with."

"Very well," Potter said, appearing at ease and composed. But his jaw had clenched for a moment before he spoke, in response to the declaration. "What can I help you with? I don't wish to keep you."

Interesting. For all that Tom was now eager to speak with Potter, it seemed that Potter did not return the sentiment. Unusual. Tom knew his own charms. He knew he was an attractive man, a fact he used to his own advantage often. He was brilliant, powerful both magically and politically, well-connected, and from an ancient and revered family. Thomas Slytherin was used to people attempting to attract his attention, not doing everything they could to try and avoid him.

Potter had captured his interest. Tom had no plans to leave until he had discovered exactly what it was he wished to hide.

"Nonsense," Tom said with a smile. "I'm exactly where I should be, Mr. Potter."

Again, Potter's jaw clenched. Tom allowed his smile to morph into a smirk for a moment before once again donning his mask of politeness. It wouldn't do to spook the boy. Not until he'd gotten everything he wanted.

"Now," Tom continued. "I am the Undersecretary for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and head the Dark Wizard Deterrent Squad.. I am here to follow up on the attack on your manor that occurred three weeks ago. It is my hope that what information you have to offer will allow us to better prevent such attacks by Voldemort in the future. The ministry also wishes to convey our deepest regrets that such a terrible thing was allowed to happen on our watch. We will, of course, be willing to contribute to the cost of repairing the damage."

Potter waved him off.

"While we appriciate the ministry's offer, we are more than capable of repairing the damage ourselves. The Potter coffers are plentiful."

"Magical assistance, then," Tom offered, keeping his eyes fixed on Potter, looking for any sign of anything. "A wardmaster, perhaps? I know your mother has the required skill, but given the demands of her work I'm not certain how much time she has to devote to matters around the house."

"I am the one repairing the manor," Potter replied, his irritation showing. "A wardmaster will not be necessary."

So. It was Potter who was repairing the defenses. Interesting.

"I'm impressed, Mr. Potter," Tom said, meaning every word. "Warding is no simple task. Are you intending to be a wardmaster yourself?"

Potter shook his head.

"No. It is simply one of the pieces of knowledge I picked up on my travels."

"Oh?" Tom asked. "Where did you go?"

"Here and there," Potter answered with a stiff smile.

Stubborn boy. Didn't he realized that the more he demurred and withheld, the more Tom wanted to know? Still, it had been quite some time since anyone had put up anything that resembled a fight. Oh, there were those who would attempt to rouse his curiosity on purpose, attempting to be mysterious in order to try and draw him out. They were easy to spot, and even their deepest, darkest secrets usually only took him a moment to unravel. There was no sport in it. They were dull people, and it was always a matter of hours before Tom became bored.

Potter, though, was putting up a real fight. He truly didn't want Tom to know about him.

Tom loved a challenge. It had been such a long time since he had had anything even resembling a true one. He doubted Potter would be more than a few days worth of entertainment, but it was the most intrigued he'd been in a long time. Part of him almost wanted to savor the experience.

He knew he wouldn't. Tom could be patient if forced, but there was nothing to stay his hand now. He always preferred to tackle issues head on, to greedily reveal the secrets that had been kept from him as long as possible.

Potter could have his secrets for now. Tom would know everything before the end of their time together.

"May I ask, how long were you abroad? When did you return to the country?" Tom said, feigning at no interest beyond typical small talk. "I myself spent a number of years after my Hogwarts graduation on exploration."

"I only returned four weeks ago," Potter said, ignoring the words that had been designed to provoke enquiry as if Tom hadn't spoken them at all. "I left the summer after my Hogwarts graduation."

Three years, then. The boy had spent three years wandering around the globe. Few people were so dedicated in their travels. No mere tourist, then. That much was certain. The money certainly hadn't run out. Which suggested that Potter had been looking for something.

Tom wondered what it was, and where Potter had found it. He would have to look into the ministry records later, to see if he could discover what he wanted to know. If not the official records, then he was certain that the boy's parents could provide an answer. Perhaps one of his yearmates. Tom would know what he wanted to know before the end of business.

It was time to turn this conversation back towards its true purpose.

"You moved in with your parents then?" Tom asked.

Potter nodded.

"Originally, I'd planned on renting myself a room," Potter said. "As soon as my parent knew I was coming back, they insisted that I move in with them. In light of the current situation, they weren't comfortable with me living on my own."

Tom nodded.

"Now, tell me please, Mr. Potter, were you home the night Voldemort attacked?" Tom asked.

"I was," Potter answered. "I was in the study down the hall when the fighting first broke out, but I had retreated to the library before the end of it."

Was Potter a coward, then? Surprising, for a boy who had been prefect of a house known for it's bravery.

"Not defending your home?" Tom asked, in a tone designed to garner a reaction.

It worked. Potter glared at him.

"I was ordered to evacuate by my parents," Potter said, not even pretending to bother hiding his irritation.

Ah. That made a great deal of sense. Lily Potter had, shortly after giving birth to Harry, been involved in a nasty accident as a result of her work on the experimental charms. It had left her bedridden in St. Mungos for weeks. She had survived, but had been unable to conceive. That this would leave them both protective of their only son was natural.

"I assume that you were prevented from escaping, and that is why you chose to retreat to the library? We know it is typical for the Death Eaters to erect anti-apparition wards to ensure that no one can escape."

Potter gave him a long, dark look. Good. A reaction, finally. The more he needled the man, the more he would learn. Potter seemed the sort to have his tongue loosened in anger, and if he was anything like his father, his temper would leave him angered easily.

"I was on my way to secure several valuable family artifacts before joining the fray myself," Potter said, looking him dead in the eye, gaze still obscured by the damnable fire. "I was simply denied the opportunity."

Tom had to admit that he was impressed. That Potter had gone to secure the family artifacts meant that he was confident enough to be certain that he would survive, but a good enough judge of character to be aware of exactly what he was up against. Still, Tom was convinced that there was more to the story. Otherwise, why would Potter be so eager to avoid talking about it? Tom needed to know more.

"Would you mind retracting your steps with me? Tom asked. "I'd like to try and get a personal feel for the situation if at all possible."

Potter minded. That much was obvious. His clenched jaw had given him away once again. Still, there was no way he could refuse the request. Not without making it obvious that he was hiding something.

"Of course," he said, a smile plastered on his face. "Come with me."

They both exited into the entryway, and Potter began to make his way up the stairs.

"Now, where were your parents when the fighting broke out?"

"Outside on the front lawn," Harry said with a grimace. "Defending the house."

That answer surprised Tom. He had expected the Potters to have been the ones who had dueled in the entryway. From the damage, it was obvious that spellfire had been exchanged. Tom knew the habits of the Death Eaters, knew what spells they preferred. Had experience enough to know exactly which curses had left marks on the walls. Bellatrix had been there. Of that there was no doubt. Her husband too. Perhaps Carrow.

"Were any of the witches or wizards from the Order present?"

Potter paused, his foot momentarily frozen above the step. It was just a moment, but it was enough.

"Order?" Potter asked, his tone convincing enough that he might have swayed someone less skilled than Tom. "I'm sorry, what order?"

"The Order of the Pheonix," Tom said calmly. "An organization formed by Hogwarts headmaster Albus Dumbledore. Your parents are members, along with almost two dozen other wizards and witches."

Potter glanced at him for a moment, too fast for their eyes to truly catch before his gaze darted to somewhere over Tom's left shoulder.

"Do give me some credit, Mr. Potter," Tom said. "I'm not as incompetent as some of my colleges. While as a member of the ministry, I may not offer official support to such vigilante actions..." Tom trailed of meaningfully.

"Unofficially?" Potter asked him.

"Unofficially? I think it is about time citizen began taking a stand. Voldemort is a threat to all of wizarding Britain, perhaps the entire wizarding world, and he must be stopped. Citizens who stand by when their very freedoms are threatened..." Tom heaved a heavy frustrated sigh. The sheep of the wizarding world. At once his greatest tool and his greatest obstacle. "The people must take a stand. They must fight. Fight to survive. It is the surest way to prevent Voldemort from taking power."

For the present, at least, that much was true. Until Tom could find his own solution to the problem of Voldemort, finishing him once and for all, or find a way to control the man, he needed to ensure that Voldemort's campaign of terror did not succeed.

"No," Potter said. "I was alone. The wards kept those not of Potter blood from apparating directly into the house. They sealed the doors behind them before anyone could help."

Tom stared at Potter intently, looking for any sign of duplicity, any indication at all that he might be concealing the truth. There was none. The man had fought three of the most vicious, brutal Death Eaters on his own, and he had survived. Not just survived, but emerged largely unscathed.

Clearly Potter was not a man to be underestimated. Tom had known he was powerful, but it was another thing entirely to know that the man knew how to wield that power.

"How many?" Tom asked, his voice more commanding than he had intended. "How many were there?"

"Three," Potter said, swiftly and with such surety that Tom was certain he was lying.

But why? What purpose was there to this lie? Why did he want so desperately to downplay his own achievements? Why was he trying to hard to hide?

Tom allowed Potter his deception for the moment. But there was no way he was going to let it go.

"Can you describe them for me?" Tom asked.

Potter's jaw clenched once again, and Tom found himself fascinated. What, exactly, was Potter trying to accomplish here? Trying to downplay his own skill? For what purpose? If someone was powerful and skilled, that was typically information they broadcasted far and wide. There was no explanation Tom could think of for concealing it. Perhaps he was attempting to protect one of the Death Eaters? But for god's sake, why? The boy's family were all members of the Order. Who could he have formed an attachment to in Voldemort's ranks? Tom could not make heads or tails of his motives, and he found it as fascinating as it was frustrating.

"A woman," Harry began slowly. "One with dark, curly hair and a crazed sort of wildness about her. Bellatrix Lestrange."

Tom made an inquiring noise. The death eaters all wore masks and robes to hide their identity. It wasn't uncommon for some of the members to go without, too proud to hide their faces. Bellatrix was certainly among their number. But how had Potter recognized her?

Potter shot Tom a look before responding.

"My godfather is Sirius Black. I'm quite familiar with the Black family tree. And Bellatrix is very easy to spot."

"Very true," Tom said.

"The others were all wearing masks," Potter said with a shrug. "I haven't a clue who they were."

Neither his posture or his words betrayed him, but Tom was still certain he was hiding something.

"That is their way," Tom said, keeping a sharp eye on Potter. "Very well. What happened next?"

"We dueled in the entryway," Potter said, pointing to the various marks that still littered the walls. "I was barely holding my own."

"At three against one, that is a remarkable feat," Tom offered.

Potter just shrugged in response before making his way to the staircase.

"It became obvious that it would only be a matter of time before they overwhelmed me, so I created a distraction to allow me to run upstairs."

Tom mounted the steps behind him, wondering what sort of distraction could have been useful enough to stop three death eaters in their tracks, long enough for their prey to escape.

"Why not use the distraction to escape?" Tom asked.

He received a scathing look in response, and he had to fight the urge to grin.

"Not the sort to run from a fight?" Tom asked.

Potter gave him a look that communicated the word "yes" more clearly than if the man had spoken it aloud.

"I still had items to retrieve," Potter said instead. "Heirlooms to secure. And I wasn't about to leave them in the manor. Besides," he said, reaching out and placing a hand against one of the walls, a small, soft smile on his face. "This is my home. I know everything about it. I knew I could count on it to protect me."

The magic of the manor had pulsed when Potter had connected with it, as if in agreement with his words. Tom had never seen anyone but the head of the family so in tune with the magic of the house. He had no doubt that the manor would have done everything and anything the youngest Potter asked of it.

"Where did you go next?" Tom prodded. As interesting as this was, he could see it for what it was. Potter was attempting t distract him. For Potter, who had gone well out of his way to conceal his skills and anything remarkable about himself, to have put on such a display of power could only mean one thing. Whatever was waiting upstairs was even more fantastic, even more revealing.

The way Potter grit his teeth confirmed Tom's suspicions. For a man so determined to be mysterious, he was remarkably easy to read.

"The library," Potter said. "That was where several items I needed to retrieve were."

There was something else he wasn't saying, but Tom could grasp it easily enough. Every old manor had its secrets, known only to those who lived within its walls. One of those secrets was no doubt hidden within the family library. A secret passage of sorts, Tom was willing to wager.

They climbed the stairs to the landing and Potter, his steps shorter and slower than they had been a moment before, lead the way to the library. Reluctant. More than reluctant. Clearly, whatever was in the library was beyond interesting.

Potter stopped short just in front of a doorway.

"This is the Potter family library. Only those of the family can enter," Potter said.

Tom grinned. It was a poor attempt indeed to keep him out, and the man knew it. Still, Potter had tried. He was stubborn. Tom would concede that much.

"Then if you could be so kind as to invite me in," Tom said sweetly, "and I can continue to move forward in my investigation. The sooner I've seen everything, Mr. Potter, the sooner I'll be out of your hair."

Potter glared at him, but he pressed his hand to the door. Tom felt the wards around the room shift, and a moment later, the door swung open. Potter stepped through it without saying a word. Tom followed.

The moment he entered the room, he knew exactly what Potter had attempted to hide. There were unmistakable scorch marks on every wall and the floor. As if fire had taken form and slithered across and around every surface.

Fiendfyre. Potter had been attacked with fiendfyre. And he had lived to tell the tale.

There was only one wizard Tom knew of amongst Voldemort's ranks who had the skill to not only cast but control such a powerful, destructive force.

"He was here," Tom said, breathless, as he looked around the room. "Voldemort was here. He attacked you."

Tom spun on Potter, and found the man staring at him, his shoulders squared and his jaw clenched. Still, there was fear on his face. Tom could understand why. The boy, for he was but a boy compared to Voldemort's skills and expertise, the boy had fought the Dark Lord. Had fought the Dark Lord, and had lived.

Only Albus Dumbledore, one of the strongest wizards alive, could claim the same.

The time for games was over. Tom reached out and grabbed Potter's face in his hands, forcing the boy to meet his gaze. As soon as their eyes connected, Tom attacked, delving into the boy's mind with as much force as possible

Only he couldn't. There was a barrier around Potter's mind. The strongest barrier he had ever seen. Tom probed every inch, tested every piece of Potter's occlumency barrier. Tom tried brute force, tried to find a weak spot and attack it, turning his mind to a sharp, powerful point. The walls did not so much as shudder. Tom knew himself to be one of the most powerful legillemns all the world over. No one could keep him out. Not for long. No one, it seemed, except Harry potter.

Not just a simple occlumens. Potter was a Master of the mind art.

Before Tom could decide how to proceed, Potter's hands came to rest against his shoulders. He pushed Tom, hard enough to have the man stumbling back a step. Enough to break the connection between them.

Potter was glaring at him, his bright green eyes practically glowing with emotion. He stared at Tom in defiance, power that had been so carefully hidden before now practically radiating off him.

He was the most beautiful thing Tom had ever seen.

"I prefer to keep my thoughts to myself, Mr. Slytherin," the man said, his voice steady, wand in his hand. "Now, I believe you have overstayed your welcome."

Potter's magic reached for that of the manor, and a moment later Tom felt the house shift around him, the wards alight with magic that wrapped around Tom. A painful, burning sensation, one last look at the defiance and strength in those green eyes, and then Tom found himself outside the gate of the Potter manor.

He stood there for a moment before he allowed himself a delighted laugh.

Harry Potter was a puzzle. An intricate, interesting, pretty puzzle indeed. Tom would unravel him, would pick apart his secrets before the man stood bare and exposed before him.


End file.
